The Lines of Obscurity
by popsicle777
Summary: An exploration of alternate universe pairings with what it's like to be a fangirl and meet the best character ever! Sequel(s) expected, and there will probably be at least one crossover sequel.


**Hi guys. I know I haven't finished my other story, but it's almost done and I need to write this series down before I lose the inspiration. This is a Psych fic, and I'm really excited to be messing with alternate universes. I would say the main character is Emma #1, because that's who I imagined the story through, and she is pretty close to being me. If anyone has constructive criticism, I'm all ears. I'm also having a lot of trouble writing Shawn, especially coming up with the light humor that I love. I do have a couple of ideas for funny, but I don't have enough material to write good ramblings that is his signature. Thanks, guys!**

#1 Emma's POV

I woke up slowly, wondering why I was so uncomfortable. My eyelids were incredibly heavy, and my head pounded.

 _Where was I?_ I had gone to bed pretty late, 1:00 AM, after I'd finally finished my French essay. As a senior, I had expected much less homework, but I had been getting more lately than I ever had as a Junior.

The room was pitch black, which was strange because my room at home never got that dark. There was always moonlight, or porch lights, or _something_.

More awake, I tried to sit up, but something scratchy and uncomfortable bound my hands together.

There were restraints on my ankles, too, and, I realized, a gag in my mouth.

" _Unngh,_ " I grunted.

 _Let's be logical about this, Emma_ , I told myself. _This must have happened after I went to bed last night._ I paled, remembering my family. _Not helping._

Had I left the door unlocked, or had they just picked it?

The lights flashed on, blinding me. I wanted so badly to cover my face with my hands, but I had to make do with scrunching my eyes as tightly as I could. I did notice that I was wearing what I had gone to bed in: grey athletic shorts and my Toews Blackhawks t-shirt, but no shoes. I let out my breath in relief at the lump in my pocket. I still had my phone. I hadn't charged it last night, but it _had_ to have enough battery to make just one phone call. I needed it to have enough.

I heard footsteps coming down stairs. They weren't too heavy, but they were clearly male.

I opened my eyes, not wanting to miss anything. The room looked like an unfinished basement. In a corner was a washer and a dryer. I didn't see any other furniture. The previously overwhelming light was a single bright bulb that hung almost directly overhead. There were no windows.

A man turned the corner and strode towards me with confidence. He was younger than I had expected, but still at least 5 years older than me.

He was muttering to himself, never a good sign, but he looked up and smiled. He seemed genuinely happy to see me.

"Good morning, Emma," he said cheerfully. "I was just going to wake you. I'm sorry you had to sleep on the floor, but you just had to be punished for what you said to me yesterday."

Wait. Yesterday?

He came towards me, and I panicked, scooting as far away as possible, although it wasn't very effective. He stroked my cheek once before removing the gag and leaning me against the wall. I tried to hide the fear in my eyes, although I was sure it wasn't working.

I cut to the chase. "What do you mean, yesterday?"

His brow scrunched in confusion, but before he could answer, the doorbell rang. It played a whimsical rendition of _Row, Row, Row Your Boat_ , which struck me as slightly inappropriate for a kidnapper.

He was irritated, and for a second I expected him to strike me, but he stalked up the stairs, forgetting to put the gag back on.

There was someone at the door. _There was someone at the door_. I opened my mouth and inhaled, preparing to scream, until I heard footsteps on the stairs again.

Was it another one? Was he coming back? I hesitated, not wanting to make a potential captor angry.

He was wearing jeans and a plain blue t-shirt. I looked up at his face and gasped. " _Shawn Spencer?"_

"Shhhh." Shawn's tone was clipped, but a strange look crossed his face at the mention his name. "I won't hurt you. I'm getting you out of here." He dropped to his knees and began to untie me.

I had figured as much. Psychic detectives weren't typically culprits. Plus, thinking back on it, the doorbell was far too well timed to be accidental. But what was he doing in Chicago? Actually, what was he doing outside of his TV show?

"Who's at the door?" I had a general idea, but I hoped he had brought more backup than a pharmaceutical salesman.

Shawn looked up in surprise. "Impressive," he complimented. He went back to what he was doing, and finally freed my hands.

I snorted. "Please...The timing was much too perfect." I narrowed my eyes as my ankles came loose. Shawn stood, pulling me up with him. "I hope it isn't just Gus out there. No offense, but he seems too skittish to be the hero type."

His eyes widened. "How did you knowㄧ"

Shawn was cut off by the sound of a gun cocking. My captor pointed it directly at Shawn and chuckled.

I swore internally. Why wasn't I paying more attention? I should've heard him coming down the stairs.

"Good try," he said. "But really, the doorbell thing was much too obvious."

I nudged Shawn, raising my eyebrow in a way that said _I told you so_.

"You'd be surprised at how often that works," Shawn told both of us. He turned to face my captor. "Well, Carter Mason," Shawn continued, "did you know that I ate a chili cheese dog on my way here?" The man, or Carter, as Shawn had called him, started to speak, but was interrupted by Shawn. "I didn't think so. It was quite delicious, and the fact that you didn't notice proves that you aren't as observant as you think you are." He pointed to a minuscule, vaguely yellow dot on his t-shirt. "See? Mustard stain." Shawn was slowly inching forward as he spoke, even more nonsensical than he usually was on the show.

Unable to stop myself, I ask, "You eat _mustard_ on a chili cheese dog?

"Shut up!" Carter shouted. He aimed the gun, which had dipped a little during Shawn's spiel, back at his chest. "Sorry you have to see this, Emma, but we can't have anyone ruining our relationship, can we?"

My breath caught. Shawn freaking Spencer was going to _die_ saving some stupid girl he'd never met before. I didn't deserve that. I'd known he went all out on his cases, but still. Before I could think, I launched myself between Shawn and the gun just as Carter fired.

A sharp pain exploded just below the right side of my collarbone. I began to fall; somehow, I had landed on my feet. I felt someone warm catch me from behind, gently placing me on the floor. "Ow," I said incredulously.

Carter cursed, and I heard a crash upstairs, followed by several shouts. I couldn't quite make them out, but it sort of sounded like they were saying SBPD.

Carter ran up the stairs, and I focused on the pressure on my wound. Shawn pressed his bare hands into the right side of my chest, trying to stop the blood.

"Nice to meet you, Shawn Spencer. My name is Emma," I slurred. I coughed, blood coming out of my mouth. "Mustard sucks, by the way," I choked out. Everything went black.

Shawn's POV

The blood was starting to seep through my fingers and onto the floor as Juliet came down the stairs.

"Are you OK, Shawn? I heard theㄧ" She stopped short. "Oh my God."

"Yeah," I said, serious for once. "Can you call an ambulance?"

"There's one here already. I'll get an EMT."

I nodded before looking back down at Emma. She was still breathing, thank goodness. Why would she do something so stupid? I chuckled darkly. My own stupidity had almost landed me right where she was, so who was I to talk? Still, I couldn't understand how she would jump in front of a bullet for someone she'd just met. And how did she know about me and Gus?

I was brought out of my thoughts by several doctors and a stretcher banging back down the stairs. One doctor took my place, saying they'd take over from there.

Jules handed me a towel for my hands. I hadn't noticed her, Gus, and Carlton come down, just as I'd failed to notice Carter.

Gus took one look at the blood and said he'd wait in the car. Kind of ironic, considering he sells medicine.

"What the hell happened here?" Carlton inquired.

I shook my head, dazed. "That was supposed to be me."

Juliet put her hand on my shoulder. "It wasn't your fault Shawn. You can't save everybody."

"You don't understand." I shook my head again, trying to clear it. "That was _literally_ supposed to be me. She, like, catapulted in front of the bullet."

They took a minute to evaluate their own mortality, and I watched as they slowed the bleeding. Her Blackhawks shirt would be ruined, but the doctors looked optimistic; she would be fine. I was surprised she was still such a fan after living in Santa Barbara for seven years, but I could relate to the nostalgia.

I noticed her lack of footwear. In and of itself, that wasn't strange, but seeing her being lifted onto the stretcher, I didn't see the dirt that should've been caked onto the bottoms of her feet after ten days in this cave of a basement. This floor was definitely not clean. She also appeared to be well rested; had I been kidnapped, I was sure I wouldn't have slept a wink. Even if she hadn't been able to escape, a good night's sleep both without a mattress and with the added layer of stress should've been impossible. So why did she look so... healthy?

Even now, her face looked peaceful; no shadows under her eyes and a natural upturn to the corners of her lips.

Either way, that, her immediate recognition of me, and her knowledge of Gus made me think this case wasn't quite closed. Or maybe it would be a sequel case. I smiled, thinking of the edible education that awaited.

I couldn't help but replay the gunshot over and over in my head. It's direction and velocity meant that it would have hit me… I looked down. Right in my heart. I would have died instantly. I chose to keep that from the detectives. They wouldn't gain anything from it. I highly doubted that Emma herself had realized just how close it had come.

I couldn't take it anymore, the waiting. I had never been known for my patience. I approached the EMT, confirming what I'd already deduced. She would be transported to the hospital and have the bullet removed staying in a medically induced coma for three days. I strode up the stairs and out the door I got into the blueberry, already filling Gus in.

"Wait a minute," Gus said when I mentioned that she'd known my name. "She knows who you are?"

I nodded. "She knew you, too, and I'd be willing to bet that she knows more than that."

"What makes you think that?" Gus asked nervously.

"Well, she might have implied that you're 'not the hero type,' which is pretty accurate." I chuckled.

"I take offense to that," Gus replied. "And should we be worried? How much does she know?"

"I don't think we need to worry just yet, although I have no idea how much."

Gus mulled it over before asking, "So, how'd she get shot?"

I pursed my lips. "She flung herself in front of the bullet."

Gus's eyes bulged. "Oh my God."

"You're the second person to say that in the past ten minutes." I forced a laugh. I was trying to turn it into a joke, but I was too shaken up. More than any of the other questions, the one I couldn't get out of my head was why. Why had she _done_ that? Who just jumps in front of a bullet?

"We should at least send her a fruit basket or something," Gus said.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a free case. We might have to wait a couple of weeks, but..." I shrugged. "We'll get some questions answered, too." I sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat as Gus started the engine and pulled away. I sat up again. "Oh, and we have to get a chili cheese dog with mustard," I added.

#2 Emma's POV

I was trying to keep my eyes closed for as long as possible. It was like the opposite of a nightmare. When I slept, everything was fine. It was only when I woke up that the bad dream started.

"Emma, we're going to be late!" Carter called to me. Great, he was already angry. But… late for what? He'd never gone to work during the day. I didn't know where his funds came from; I'd just assumed that anyone psychopathic enough to kidnap someone had no qualms about theft.

I groaned and stretch, bracing myself, as I had every other day, that I might not live to see tomorrow. It had come very close yesterday. I yawned, stalling, bringing my hand up to cover my mouth.

Wait. My eyes flashed open. I was… in my parents' house? Then the person yelling was… my _father_.

My room looked the same as it had my senior year of high school. All my posters were tacked up on the walls, and my senior schedule was resting on my desk. The backpack I'd used was in the same place I would always put it after school before I'd procrastinate and only finish about half of at midnight.

Had I just dreamt the last seven years of my life, topping it off with an abducting stalker?

I glanced at the raging bruises that covered my arms and my midsection, though that was still covered by the tattered tank top I'd worn for God knows how long. No. It had been real.

I was at a loss for what to do, but another shout from my father spurred me into action. I decided to do what came naturally, what was familiar.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into my old routine. I got dressed, taking care to wear long sleeves and pants in order to blanket any suspicious markings: I didn't need anyone thinking I was suicidal.

It was a tad eerie to slide the flip-flops I'd broken years ago onto my feet again. I would have preferred gym shoes to go over a couple of conspicuous scratches near my toes, but I couldn't find any. To be fair, I usually couldn't find them. Foot injuries were inordinately less complicated to explain than marks on my arms.

I went downstairs, smiling sheepishly and apologizing for the time. We were supposed to be out the door by 7:00 am so he could get to work on time; it was 7:15 am. I was in for at least a ten minute lecture on the way to school, which had bothered me a lot as a teenager, but was cheesecake compared to where I'd just been.

We drove off into a piece of my past.

 **I hoped you liked it! Please follow, favorite, and especially review! I need the help, because Shawn needs to be in character. I couldn't bear to have him be all wrong when he's so right in the way I imagine this story.**


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